


Reflections

by Authoranna



Series: Burk'yc Aliit -- Dangerous Family [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dad-alorian, Din thinks about his scars, Gen, Mention of previous violence, Paternal Fluff, Ruminating, The Shaving Fic that no one really asked for, mentions of healed wounds, slight beginning angst because memories, un-beta'd because I'm too impatient to wait to post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoranna/pseuds/Authoranna
Summary: Din is shaving and reflecting, and The Child gets upset when he walks in because he's never seen shaving before. Fluff ensues.
Relationships: None
Series: Burk'yc Aliit -- Dangerous Family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755976
Comments: 7
Kudos: 111





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> I've yet to watch the Mandalorian so if this is terribly OOC or I get so much back story wrong, my apologies.
> 
> Mando'a  
> ad'ika -- small child,  
> ba'vodu -- aunt/uncle  
> buir -- parent (noun, gender neutral)  
> buire -- parents  
> buy'ce -- helmet  
> jagyc -- male (adjective)  
> Ke'dinui -- give (command)  
> Udesii! -- calm down, take it easy  
> verd'ika -- little soldier  
> Like the tag says, no beta because I'm impatient and wanted to rot all your teeth with fluff as soon as possible.

Din stared at his father’s face in the mirror above the sink. The reflection was paler than his memory, skin no longer able to be kissed by the sun beneath the  _ buy'ce _ , but Maker how he looked like his father when he went without a shave. Less wrinkles than his father bore lined his face, though he had more scars than his father ever did. One would think that wearing a helmet would prevent scars, but biting through his lip during a brawl and the myriad fisticuffs and misadventures of a youth before assuming the helmet had marked his face. 

An errant vibroblade had sliced his eyebrow while in the Covert, leaving a hairless patch bisecting above his left eye. A broken nose left his face more asymmetrical than most, and little scars of puberty littered his chin and cheeks; pimples and zits popped and scratched at until they bled. His forehead was marked with a red line from temple to temple, a side effect of constantly wearing the buy'ce; he was afraid when he finally took his helmet off for the last time that the line would never fade. 

His chest was a canvas of healed wounds and fading bruises from bounties fighting back. A shockstick had found a gap in his armor, allowing his side to be burned red permanently. A pike once sliced his arm to leave a large scar, countless blaster burns in varying degrees of healing and scarring mingled among the freckles and moles, and the yellowed, torso-covering bruise from the mudhorn throwing him rounded out what he could see on his bare chest and arms.

Sighing, he turned on the water to wash his face. The ‘fresher on the  _ Razor Crest  _ was cramped, barely enough room for the vacc tube, shower, and sink. What little space was available under the mirror was taken by a toothbrush rack, the small frog covered toothbrush of the bean hanging lopsided because of its size. The mirror quickly steamed over from the hot water, and he wiped it with the towel before wetting his face. Though many who shaved prefered the speed and simplicity of an electro-shaver, his  _ jagyc ba’vodu _ had taught him the old art of a straight razor, as he said it was a time for thinking about one’s life and their actions. The quiet, the repetitive actions, and staring at your own face do wonders for introspection, really.

Din slathered his face with the old style lather, shaking the can before letting out a short huff. The next supply run on a backwater planet would require a search for more shaving foam. It was difficult to find on some planets, with others considering electro-shavers a privilege of the wealthy elite. Recharging a shaver was difficult without a powersource, after all. 

He started methodically running the blade along his cheek, ignoring the new grays hairs sprouted since the last time he had done this. It was all the fault of the child, really, these grays. His force abilities starting to show more, living on the run because of his bounty, and his inability to stay put for any amount of time had aged Din years in the span of only months.

The child wandered past the open ‘fresher door, letting out an anxious squeak when he saw his father. His ears tilted back, and he reached out a hand. Din’s hand froze above his cheek.

“ _ Udesii! _ What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed.” Din looked down at the child, his hand still hovering beside his face. He knew he had shut the hatch on the smuggling compartment turned bed before coming to the bathroom. 

The child gave another anxious squeak before saying “ _ buir _ ” and beginning to babble and touch his own face. His ears wobbled as he spoke, and Din slowly understood what was happening.

“I’m okay,  _ verd’ika _ . I know it looks weird, but I’m not hurting. I’m not hurt. Udesii, udesii. Now let me go.” He stared down at him, and his hand slowly came back under his control. Din knelt down in the doorway, setting the blade within the sink on his way. “See, it’s just foam. Give me your hand,  _ ke’dinui _ .” He picked the child up in one arm, letting him touch both the clean, shaven side and the side that still was covered in quickly fading foam and hair. 

“See? It’s just me,  _ ad’ika _ , just me.”

The Child cooed as he touched Din’s face, smacking it a few times and spraying foam into the air to cause giggles. 

The bounty hunter set him on the floor, taking the can in hand and spraying a little onto the child’s outstretched hands. The small green boy clapped his hands together once, giggling as the foam puffed up in to the air before falling onto the floor. He squatted down, trying to collect the white foam from the floor. He touched his face then, smearing it over his jaw to match Din’s half-done job and grinning up at the Mandalorian.

“You’ll probably never need to do that, verd’ika. Come on, let’s clean you up.” Din picked up the towel from beside the sink, kneeling down. When he started to reach towards the kid, the young one danced away from his reach with a whine. After a couple more tries, Din gave up with a sigh before turning back to what he had began before. 

As Din picked the razor up again, he felt a tug on his sleep pants, and the kid was patting the space around his face when he looked down at him. When the ad’ika was sure he had Din’s attention, he ran his hand over his cheek. The foam had started to fall off from his movements earlier, but it still remained in patches.

“You want to shave?” The child nodded in response, and Din snapped the razor closed before picking up the child to set in the sink. The ad’ika turned around so he faced the mirror, and Din opened the razor and flipped it around to the dull side.

The child cooed and giggled as Din began gently scraping the foam off the bean’s face, and he was careful to move the razor away from grabby hands.

When the shaving was over, Din took a wet rag to wipe the little patches that remained on the little face and remove the residue. He dabbed at the child’s nose, earning another squealing giggle. Din lifted the ad’ika out of the sink, setting him on the floor. 

The child watched silently, ears tilted back slightly, as Din finished shaving and washing his own face. Din sighed as he looked at his reflection again, running a hand over his jaw before rinsing the sink out. 

He looked like his father still, but he saw his buir, too. She had often worn the same look when the young foundlings or clan members imitated the older Mandos that he wore now.

“Come on, verd’ika, let’s get you to bed; and stay there this time, eh?” With that, Din picked up the yawning child to carry to bed, and the bean nestled into his shoulder with a squeak and small neck pat.


End file.
